


Paper Thin Walls

by MrsCaulfield



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Aziraphale has questionable taste in books, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Christmas romcom feels, Coming Untouched, Crowley is a lil shit, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Human AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, Or maybe i have questionable taste in books, Romantic Comedy, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Tons and tons of banter, but mehh we love him, friends with benefits to friends to lovers, lots of pop culture references, or at least i hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: Sure being in love with your best friend when he also happens to live in the flat next door, where you can hear every single one of his conquests through that shared wall, sounds challenging. But being in love with your best friend when he lives next doorandyou two used to shag? Might just be a tad more difficult, but Aziraphale muddles through somehow.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 333
Kudos: 570
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fun little thing I've been working on for the holidays! I've had this idea for a neighbours AU for a while now but there's so many good ones out there already, so I decided to turn it into this small project instead. Fluffy, hopefully funny with very minimal angst - I'll be posting one part per day until Christmas day so I hope you all stick around! :)
> 
> **Rated E for explicit sexual content in upcoming chapters**

_'I get down on my knees and I start to pray_

_Till the tears run down from my eyes_

_Lord somebody, ooh somebody...'_

The side of Aziraphale's fist has gone red from pounding it against the wall of his flat for what must be close to forty minutes now.

Try as he might, he can't focus on any of the words on his laptop screen. That in itself is a huge feat. Aziraphale, a history professor, is quite fond of his job and takes it very seriously. But now, an hour into the noise barrage courtesy of his eccentric neighbour, he finds himself inching ever closer to running a thorough Google search on _vivisepulture_ instead.

_'I try and I try and I try_

_But everybody wants to put me down_

_They say I'm going crazy'_

He tries banging again. "Can you _please_ turn the music down?" He yells through the wall he shares with the flat next door which, if he be asked, must be made out of the same material as the takeaway menus that litter his kitchen table.

His head is pounding to the same rhythm as the song's barraging drums and stuttering bass.

"Fine. If he's going to be like this."

Aziraphale straightens his cardigan and marches out of his flat.

It doesn't take long for him to reach the flat _(obviously, it’s right next door),_ but the entire thing - pounding on his neighbour's door and yelling at it again until his throat goes tingly from screaming - feels like it takes years.

"Crowley! Crowley, stop ignoring me and open the door right this instant!"

_'Find me somebody to love_

_Find me somebody to love'_

The door mercifully, _finally,_ swings open to reveal its sole occupant. Crowley's dark red hair is mussed, like he'd just woken up from a nap (though how anyone could take a nap under these conditions is beyond him), and is dressed only in his boxers.

The moment he spots Aziraphale, his mouth pulls up into a teasing, albeit childish, smirk. "Why hello, angel. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Like you don't know. I am trying to get some work done, and all I can hear is Freddie Mercury looking for somebody to love through that very thin wall which, need I remind you, we are _sharing."_

Aziraphale crosses his arms for good measure, taking on a firm tone. He's had plenty of practice dealing with undisciplined students, and the voice comes to him as second nature. It doesn't sound anything like his usual tone, but it gets people in line and that, at the moment, is all that matters.

But Crowley only quirks up a brow, his grin tugging up higher on his stupidly handsome face. "Not a fan of Queen, I take it. It's all right. Not everyone's been blessed with good taste."

"It is not about Queen, Crowley. I have not had a moment's peace in the last two weeks and I have had it! With the rock music and-and the moaning!"

"Look, if I turn down the music, you're gonna hear the moaning anyway. So just pick one and we can settle this like adults."

"Wait, what?"

_'Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

_Find me somebody to love…’_

A voice that comes from neither of them calls out from inside the flat.

"Anthony? Are you gonna be much longer?"

Aziraphale takes a moment to freeze, tilting his head in thought, before finally landing his gaze back on Crowley and mouthing: _'Anthony?'_

Crowley gives a near imperceptible shake of his head and makes a slicing gesture over his neck. He turns his head and shouts, "Just stay put, okay? Be back in a sec. Just gotta deal with my _very annoying_ neighbour here."

Aziraphale presses his lips together, his eyes darting around Crowley's flat. It's way too dark to see much of anything.

"Well, pardon me," he says cordially, his mouth aching with each syllable. "I did not realise you have, um, _found_ somebody to love." He backs away and moves to return to his own door.

Crowley's head pops through the doorway and Aziraphale slips and fumbles over the door knob.

"This'll be quick. I'll buy you coffee tomorrow to make up for it."

"How very generous of you," he replies, dripping with sarcasm. "Seems we both need to get some work done. I will see you tomorrow."

His fingers finally manage to grasp his door knob and twist it properly. He shuts the door mere moments after Crowley manages to get a few last words out.

"Pick you up at five!"

  
  



	2. Angels and Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets Crowley for coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the responses to the first part! This story will primarily be told as flashbacks and present day woven together, but I don't think they'll get too confusing.

_Aziraphale's new neighbour is fit. Like,_ _really_ _fit._

_Tall and thin, with just the right amount of muscle and knows exactly how to dress himself to flaunt it, as though his crimson hair isn't enough of a head-turner already. Those shiny locks are tied up into a half-knot at the back of his head, drawing attention to his cutting cheekbones, strong jaw, and lips that morph into a richly sinister grin._

_Needless to say, he is beyond smitten._

_He's seen him briefly while he was moving things into his flat and they've even exchanged a few words. Beyond that, though, Aziraphale has no idea how to approach him or strike any form of conversation. Making friends has never exactly been his area of expertise. He's always been a solitary person and friends, to him, merely come and go._

_So when the opportunity presents itself one day, as he finds Crowley unloading heaps of shopping bags from his car and swearing loudly, he hesitates only a moment before deciding to be brave for once._

_"Hello, neighbour!" He says cheerfully, popping up to stand near the back of his vintage car. "Do you need a hand?"_

_His wild red hair swings back as he whips his head around to face Aziraphale, with an initial disinterested expression. Aziraphale feels a bit uncomfortable under his gaze. He’s rather intimidating up close. But then he tips his glasses down and peers at Aziraphale with captivating amber brown eyes, scanning him from head to toe._

_"Oh, it's you."_

_Goodness gracious, that_ _voice_ _. Aziraphale shoots him a smile, if only to make it seem like he’s still in possession of all his mental faculties._

_"You look like you've done quite a bit of shopping," he says, beaming brightly at Crowley, trying not to squirm under his relentless staring. "That might take you several rounds to take upstairs._

_Crowley takes another look at his purchases, filling up the back of the car to the brim. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."_

_He works quickly, taking up the bags with straps and slinging them over his forearms - as much of them as he can fit. Most of them contain weighty boxes inside, so it's likely that Crowley's bought some things for his flat. When he's picked up most of the bags, he moves to lift two heavy boxes_ _not_ _in bags and balances them over his hold._

_Crowley lifts his head up from the backseat and comes out with two paper bags hanging from one hand._

_"Shall we get going, then?"_

_Crowley has an astonished look on his face. "Don't_ _you_ _need a hand?"_

_Aziraphale waves him off, shifting some of the weight onto his stomach. Once he’s done that, the weight becomes a lot more bearable. "It is all right. You'll be needing one free hand to unlock your door."_

_"So. Aziraphale, right? You been staying here long?" Crowley asks as soon as they begin walking._

_He nods. "I've been here around five years. I'm a professor and the location is very convenient. It's only a ten-minute walk from here to campus. How about you, dear boy, what do you do?"_

_He feels a bit silly talking about his work with Crowley, who looks as if he's into something much more exciting than dowdy old-fashioned Aziraphale’s job, but Crowley smiles in a friendly way and it relieves much of his stress._

_"I'm a corporate executive. Dreadful bore, really. I sit in an office all day and yell at people. Your job’s way more thrilling."_

_Aziraphale can't help the small laugh he releases. It's a bit difficult to envision Crowley anywhere near a corporate setting, but then again, there’s more to people than one’s first impressions of them. "Well, I admit I'm a bit surprised. Though I don't think my job is any more glamorous than yours is."_

_"It sucks but it pays for all this." He gestures to the bags he's holding in his hands. Aziraphale's eyes are drawn to the brand name of some expensive bed sheets and he agrees. The man sure_ _looks_ _high maintenance. "But you probably do your job because you love it. Must be nice."_

_That sure was unexpectedly sweet. Aziraphale bites his lip to keep from smiling like a giddy teenager. Not exactly a good look on a forty-something man with more creases on his face than on his Victorian-style coat._

_Even through those stylish sunglasses, he feels Crowley's gaze on him all through the duration of their lift ride. The mere thought of it is enough to get him flustered. He can't deny that it's extremely flattering for someone like Crowley to show a hint of attraction to him as well._

_From there, it's only a short trip to Crowley's door. He wishes it didn't have to end so soon, but maybe tomorrow Aziraphale can see him again and they can strike up another proper conversation, assuming his head remains intact enough for it._

_He steps through the entrance and works towards setting each bag onto the floor, arranging them so they aren't blocking the passageway. When he's satisfied with his work, he claps his hands and stands up. "Well, that looks like everyth - "_

_The words die down in his throat. Crowley has suddenly gotten much closer, crowding him into a corner._

_Crowley casually places a hand on the wall, right over his shoulder, his lips hovering inches above his own._

_"Should I say thank you?"_

_Aziraphale blinks slowly. Well. Surely one can consider this as progress? His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and through those shades, he sees Crowley's gaze flick down to track the small movement._

_He takes in a steadying breath, keeping his face entirely calm while he speaks. "Well, I am sure there are other ways that you can thank me.”_

_The grin on Crowley's face widens as he closes the distance between their mouths. Aziraphale instantly leans into it, tilting his head to press even deeper, two fingers gliding down Crowley's neck to fiddle with his grey tie. When they part, a wet sound rings through the room. Like they were doing something lewd. Raunchy. Thrilling. Rather than, well, just_ _kissing_ _._

_Aziraphale swallows hard._

_He's by no means a short man, but he's never been with anyone taller than him before, and there's something to be said about the way he has to tip his head just the slightest bit to meet Crowley's lips. It cuts off a small portion of circulation in his brain and makes it all the more intoxicating._

_Growing in confidence, he brings up both his hands, sliding his palms flat over Crowley's chest, feeling his breaths under his fingertips. For some reason, it feels like the most intimate thing he's ever done. With anyone._

_Crowley captures his mouth into another searing kiss, slipping his tongue in, drawing out a moan and a delighted shiver to accompany it. They kiss like they can't get enough of each other, and Aziraphale's back is pressed fully against the wall now, with Crowley using his hips to pin him in place._

_God, he's even a marvelous kisser,_ _Aziraphale thinks wildly. He returns the heated kisses with just as much eagerness like it’s all he knows how to do now._ _This is too good to be true. I'm doomed. I'm doomed._

_Crowley breaks off the kiss and removes his sunglasses. Far too lost in his eyes, Aziraphale barely registers his words when he talks again._

_"Just to let you know, sweetheart. I don't exactly do relationships. If you catch my drift."_

_Were he not already piss drunk from all that marvelous kissing, this would come as more of a blow. But Aziraphale is too far gone, and can do nothing else but nod and place a hand to the back of Crowley's head, crushing their mouths together._

  
  


**ooo**

When Crowley promises to buy him coffee, it almost always means they will meet at that obnoxiously branded coffee shop down the street, two buildings away from where they live. Crowley texted him earlier that he'll be running a little late, so at four o'clock he takes up a book under his arm and braves off by himself.

Crowley shows up about an hour and a half later, his hips swinging about in those all too skinny jeans. About a week ago he showed up in Aziraphale’s flat with shorter hair, sticking up in that beautifully windswept fashion seen only in magazines, and Aziraphale nearly forgot how to breathe. How any person can have wildly attractive hair, cut most of it off, and still wind up looking _even more_ attractive is beyond him. Merely further proof that God has her favorites - and all the more reason he remains firmly agnostic.

"Hey angel," he greets coolly, dropping a kiss to the top of Aziraphale's head before sinking into the seat across. Aziraphale is still firmly of the opinion that the jeans are far too tight to make it possible for him to sit properly on any occasion, because his legs sprawl away from the seat with his heels perched on the ground, and he’s sitting on his waist rather than his backside.

Aziraphale gives a hum to acknowledge his presence and turns a page from his book, peering over the words through his small spectacles.

"What have you got there?" Not waiting for him to respond, Crowley leans over the table - careful not to touch any part of the surface - and takes a closer look at the spine. " _Little Women?_ Huh. Weird.”

"It is just a book, my dear."

"Weren't you reading another one just last week? And you're already halfway through this one. You're fast."

"Not to deny that I am, in fact, a fast reader," Aziraphale says archly, though his eyes are still frantically scanning the page. "But I am not reading this one in full."

Crowley frowns. "Now that doesn't sound like you. What's going on?"

"Tomorrow I will be going on a date."

Crowley falls silent for a couple of seconds, before he gathers himself and says, "Oh?"

"With someone from the university."

"Scandalous."

"Not with a _student,_ Crowley." He groans inwardly. Crowley is quick to catch onto filthy tangents far too often. "He’s from the literature department, and he seems nice. I'm just making sure that we will have something to talk about."

"Ah, I see." Crowley folds his arms over his chest, leaning in again with an expression of rapt interest. "So, out of curiosity, why is it that you've never read Little Women before? I thought you liked books."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I’ve read Little Women."

"But?"

Aziraphale huffs, hiding his face behind the paperback and muttering. "I was a teenager back then."

Crowley snickers into his palm, his long fingers gliding and tapping lightly over a smoothly sharp jawline. "So you're revising for a date like you would for a test?"

"Oh, hush. Do not judge my methods so long as they're effective." He skims through a few more pages on the book, frowning. "Now if only I can recall what happens to Laurie after Jo rejects his proposals."

"He goes to Europe and gets it on with the youngest March sister. _Er,_ Amy."

Aziraphale props the book shut. "You've read Little Women?"

"Nah, but I've seen the film." 

"They made a _film?"_

"Yeah, like just recently. You didn't know?" At Aziraphale's blank stare, Crowley gesticulates wildly. "Emma Watson? Saoirse Ronan?"

"Am I supposed to know these people?"

"Okay, I can't deal with you while I’m uncaffeinated. You drive me mad."

Crowley gets up from his seat. Aziraphale follows his retreating form with his gaze, a soft smile playing on his lips.

When Crowley returns, he has a cup of what Aziraphale knows to be caramel macchiato with extra shot in his hand, and he lays down a steaming mug of hot chocolate for Aziraphale.

"Out of curiosity again." He stops to take a sip of his drink. The flash bastard sure loves his dramatic pauses. He leans back casually in his chair. "What book are you _actually_ reading right now?"

Aziraphale sighs in defeat, reaching into his bag to retrieve a slightly worn copy of Dan Brown's _Angels and Demons._

"Ooh, I liked that one."

"Indeed. The grotesque methods of murder towards key religious figures is most intriguing."

Crowley fails to hide his amused grin. "Wait until you get to The Lost Symbol."

"I've already read it."

He nearly spits out his drink. "You what?"

"Someone gifted it to me at last year's Christmas party. I read it and I liked it."

"But-but that's the third book! Why, oh why, did you read the third one and then _go back_ to read the first?"

"I told you, the book was gifted to me. I acquired it before I got the first one."

Horrified, Crowley peers at him through his fingers, which means that he's _doubly_ disappointed since he was already looking at him through a pair of shades before that.

"Aziraphale. There is a natural _order_ to these things. You can't just - !" he trails off with a frustrated groan and takes a long swig of his coffee. "This is ridiculous. _You_ are ridiculous. Why am I even friends with you?"

"Do let me know when you find out. I, too, wonder why I cannot seem to get rid of you, leech.” His smile bares a row of pearly white teeth.

A sharp glare sent in his direction is what the response elicits from the redhead. "Just get back to your book or whatever. Wouldn't wanna get a failing mark on your _date."_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really just love to see them banter all day. I think you all can tell that because I'm incapable of writing anything else nowadays.
> 
> See you tomorrow! :)
> 
> Follow me on Twitter! @angelsnuffbox


	3. Mr South Downs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out how Aziraphale and Crowley's initial relationship went pear-shaped. And in present day we get to know more about Aziraphale's date.

_"Crowley, can I ask you something?"_

_Aziraphale lifts his head up slightly from where it was resting on Crowley's chest. He's sunk into the mattress and is moments away from sleep, but he fends off the instinct. Crowley puts his highest standards of taste into his bed-coverings and the temptation proves to be very strong. He trails his fingers down Crowley's sternum, feeling the coarseness of a patch of dark hair - an action which by now, nearly a month into their little arrangement, has developed into a habit of his to soothe his mind._

_Crowley tightens an arm around him. "Sweetheart, you just gave me three mindblowing orgasms. Ask away. I'll tell you anything."_

_"Do you envision yourself settling here?"_

_"Sure. I've only been here a month, but it's nice enough."_

_"No, not here in the flat. I mean, here. Do you ever wish to... I don’t know, go off somewhere else?"_

_Crowley hums thoughtfully, running his hand down Aziraphale's arm. "Why, do_ _you_ _wanna go off somewhere?"_

_"South Downs," Aziraphale says breathily. He's never ever told this to anyone before. It feels like a ridiculous part of him. A ridiculous wish. "I would like to move into a lovely house, maybe a cottage of sorts, somewhere in the South Downs."_

_"Well, what's stopping you?"_

_Aziraphale tucks his face into his neck. "I don't want to do it alone. But I... I don't exactly have anyone. Not a single one."_

_"It's a nice dream."_

_Aziraphale shakes his head, shutting his eyes and already regretting to have even mentioned it._

_"It is ridiculous."_

_"I want to move away, too." Crowley's gravelly tone rumbles through the darkness of his flat. Aziraphale's heart picks up speed. "Since you told me that, I'll tell you one of mine as well. I hate it here. I hate my job. I hate the people and what they're trying to turn me into."_

_Aziraphale doesn't speak. His best course of action, really, is to listen to Crowley as he takes on the rare moment of baring his heart._

_"I have a nest egg," he continues, chuckling darkly. "When I have enough, and I'm almost there, I'll quit. Then I'll go as far away from here as possible."_

_The sinking feeling is heavy in the pit of his stomach, scratching raw at his insides._

_"Where will you go?"_

_He feels Crowley shrug underneath him. "Anywhere, I suppose. I wanna see the world, see where that takes me. I just hate being tied down to a job and a city, you know? It's so_ _constricting_ _. I just wanna go. Leave no trace."_

_Aziraphale feels tears prickling his eyes. It's too dark for Crowley to see, but his shoulders shake a little._

_"Hey, are you all right?" Crowley asks gently, tipping up his chin so they're face to face._

_"Tickety-boo, dear." He is anything but._

_Powerless, Aziraphale soothes away his own tears by pressing his lips to Crowley's, and thankfully Crowley lets him._

  
  


_*_

_It's two days later, just as Aziraphale is arriving home from work and fumbling with his keys by the front door, when he feels a pair of arms wrap securely around his stomach._

_"Evening." Crowley's lips press into his ear, nipping at his earlobe._

_Aziraphale shivers, turning in his arms. Crowley is all captivating charm and devilish energy - the picture of seduction. He wants to look at Crowley's eyes, but sees his own anxious reflection in a pair of shades instead._

_He allows himself one last look. Crowley leans in for a kiss, and he stops him with a hand pressed to his mouth._

_A furrow appears between his brows, which Aziraphale has always found to be endearingly expressive. He speaks through Aziraphale's fingers. "What's up?"_

_Aziraphale gnaws on his lip, carefully stepping back. The air does a drastic shift. Pathetic, really. He is instantly bereft and wants nothing more than to crawl back into the empty space between Crowley's arms, but he swallows hard against the urge and stomachs down the unease._

_He's fallen in love with Crowley. And he can't allow that perplexed and crushed look on his face to sway him in his firm resolution - his last resort to protect his own fragile heart._

_"I'm sorry, Crowley, but I don't think we should be doing this anymore."_

_"Did I upset you?"_

_Aziraphale shakes his head. "You told me that you don't do relationships." It's better to come clean and just be straightforward, he tells himself. Rip it off like a plaster. "Well, I realised that I'm not very good at doing casual."_

_"Oh." He tries not to feel a shred of hope in that immense disappointment in Crowley's voice._

_"It's not your fault. You made it perfectly clear from the beginning, I just don't think that I was thinking straight. It's gotten way too complicated for my liking, and it's a bit hard with you living just next door."_

_"So what are we now, exactly?"_

_Aziraphale gives him a friendly, yet tight, smile. "You are my only friend."_

_Crowley looks stunned._

_"You're my only friend, too. Friends - not exactly good at that. But you're great. I feel... easy around you."_

_"Then isn't that swell?" Aziraphale tries to muster up the usual cheeriness in his tone, though he doesn't feel it one bit. "We'll just be friends - no other terms and complications. What do you say?"_

_He holds out a hand for Crowley to shake. Crowley looks at it and nods, but he hesitates a little before finally shaking it._

  
  


**ooo**

The date with the professor actually went well. Aziraphale was taken to a fancy restaurant, fed with good food and exquisite champagne and, thanks to his self-imposed crash course, he carried himself well on Dickens and Wilde and the Brontës. 

Zac, his date, turned out to be the type of person to drop words like _'duplicitous'_ and _'verisimilitude'_ in casual conversation, so Aziraphale made sure to mention words like _'apocryphal'_ and _'prospicience'_ as well. 

Four months passed in this manner. He’s rather surprised they made it this far, too.

Perhaps this is finally his chance to move on from his hopeless little crush. If he is being honest, there are times that he still finds it difficult to be around Crowley, but he's learned to manage by now. Crowley is just naturally flirtatious and occasionally he can be very sweet. They may be best friends, but that’s no reason for him to presume any special treatment.

Maybe things are finally looking up. In the meantime, he’s having dinner over in Crowley's flat, and they’re digging into their ramen takeaway over his friend’s spotless glass table, only partially engrossed in a rerun of _Kitchen Nightmares_ (Crowley's a huge fan, and Aziraphale occasionally indulges him). 

All of a sudden, Crowley drops his chopsticks and, through a mouthful of noodles, declares:

"He's the one."

"Whatever are you on about?" Aziraphale has had a long day trying to make sense of odious grammatical errors from a pile of term papers. At the moment, he's only trying to get through his dinner before settling back in his own bed for a much needed sleep.

"You really don't see it?" Crowley prods, and he suddenly remembers that this morning Crowley saw Zac for the very first time in the lobby. The introductions were quick, but mostly because Aziraphale hurried to usher Zac out before Crowley could get a better look at him. 

He plays innocent. "See what?"

Crowley takes in a loud slurp of his food, seaweed and noodles hanging out of his lips before they slide right in. "The guy's perfect for you. Sickeningly perfect. You've found Mr. South Downs."

Aziraphale's soup lodges itself down his airway instead of his esophagus and he hacks his lungs onto his fist. "We've been dating four months!"

"But does time really matter when you're swept into a passionate romance and all that other sappy shit you're into?" Crowley goes for another deafening slurp. The noodles flick upward at the last moment, sprinkling drops of soup into the air and landing one of them in his eye. He grimaces, one hand already moving to snatch up a paper towel by his elbow and wipe down the droplets that landed on the table.

"Zac is a nice person and he has never done anything to my displeasure so far."

"I'm moved."

"But all we are doing right now is seeing one another." He sits very still, staring into the white cloud of miso dissolving in his bowl. "I'm hardly going to run off with him into the countryside at a moment's notice. I barely know him."

"Fair enough." Crowley shrugs. "All I'm saying is he seems right for you. And as for fights, I think you're way too similar to be having any of those."

Confused, Aziraphale purses his mouth. "We aren't that similar."

"Aziraphale, are you blind? If I hadn't seen you two tongue-swapping just this morning I would've thought he was your cousin."

A furious shade of red rises high over his face. Judging by Crowley's teasing look, that was exactly the reaction he was hoping to get.

"I! We're not that similar!"

"Whatever you say, angel." Crowley shakes his head, but a cheeky glint remains in his eye. "Say, what's 'Zac' short for exactly? Is it Zachary, or...?"

Aziraphale releases a vicious groan, highly tempted to launch his boiled egg at the redhead.

 _"Zaccheus,"_ he replies, grinding his teeth.

"Right." Crowley steals the egg from his bowl and pops it into his mouth with an irritating smirk.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happening here except for some backstory, but the next chapters will have a bit more moving plot in the present-day scenes I promise!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Your comments really make my day!! <3


	4. Dark Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past Aziraphale and Crowley build a friendship. Aziraphale in the present day is just trying to get through his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I refuse to apologize for Aziraphale's questionable taste in books because I firmly believe that he is a chaotic booklover who reads whatever the fuck he wants instead of being all book snobby and anti-ebook reader-ish and will thus characterize him in my fics in that manner haha

_Friends._

_They promised that they would become friends. It seemed like a sensible agreement at the time, but they have yet to speak a single word to each other since then._

_Aziraphale takes in a deep breath, balancing the heavy dish on one forearm, and raps his knuckles on Crowley's door._

_He wonders if Crowley's even home, and if he is, whether there's someone with him. His flat has been silent the whole day, but the door is opened barely a minute later._

_Crowley looks at him with an unreadable expression and Aziraphale tries not to shrivel up. In the spirit of the season, he hopes they can at least get along._

_He extends the glass dish of lasagne over to Crowley, head slightly ducked. "Merry Christmas."_

_Crowley seems a bit surprised, but he takes it without complaint. "Thanks."_

_There doesn't appear to be any sort of activity from inside his flat. It appears they're both spending Christmas alone. Under normal circumstances, they would have been spending it together. Consuming this meal together, and laughing over ridiculous holiday films on the telly together. As normal neighbours and friends._

_But it doesn't seem like they're any of those now._

_"I hope you have a good week."_

_Crowley gives him a curt smile in return. "Merry Christmas, Aziraphale."_

_Then he shuts the door._

**ooo**

  
  


_'Dining at the Ritz we'll meet at nine precisely_

_I will pay the bill, you taste the wine...'_

Seated snugly into one of Crowley's boxy dining chairs, Aziraphale has his nose deep into the last few chapters of _The Demonata_ when he's launched out of his reverie by the music blasting from Crowley's phone. Reluctantly, he turns his head and calls out in the direction of the bathroom.

"Crowley, your cellphone alarm is ringing!" He dives back in, groaning over the added noise.

His friend's muffled voice prevails over the alarm, snapping him out from his book again. "Well, shut it off then! Take the cookies out from the oven!"

"I am rather preoccupied at present!"

There's rustling sounds somewhere from behind as a door opens and the alarm is swiftly switched off. Quick footfalls fill the room, circling around the kitchen space before approaching Aziraphale.

A steel pan filled with cookies clatters on the table in front of him and he jerks in his seat.

He looks up to find Crowley, hair and chest glistening with water straight from the shower, a thin towel hung low on his waist. It's a marvelous sight, if one is being honest about things. He strongly resembles something carved from marble, and the only pop of colour comes from a large blue tartan mitt that he wears on one hand. 

He clenches his jaw at Aziraphale.

"The least you can do is scoop these out onto a plate once they cool."

Aziraphale smiles warmly. "I will if I remember."

"I mean it." Crowley slaps the mitt off and stomps away. "And watch the crumbs. Pick up everything that falls off."

"Of course, darling."

It used to bother him whenever Crowley would nag him for leaving behind any sort of trail in his flat, but now he has to admit it's kind of adorable. Then again, there are many things he's grown fond of when it comes to Crowley. And if Aziraphale takes a moment to appreciate the well-defined muscles of his back as he grumbles his way to the bathroom, well, that knowledge is confined to himself alone.

  
  


**ooo**

  
  


_"Well, you look like shit."_

_A scowl forms deep on Aziraphale's face. "Good morning to you, too."_

_His voice is stuffy and his face is flushed and sweaty. He cradles his head with one hand, like he's worried about it suddenly falling off._

_Crowley brings up the empty dish. "I came to return this."_

_Aziraphale nods wordlessly and takes it from him with one hand. "Okay." He moves to close the door, but Crowley wedges his leg in and halts the movement._

_"Hang on, have you had anything to eat today?"_

_Aziraphale spaces out for a bit, like he's trying to remember when was the last time he’d consumed anything. Alarmingly uncharacteristic of him, Crowley thinks. Aziraphale shakes his head. "I have my phone. I'll get something delivered."_

_"Do you have a fever?" Crowley steps in, uninvited and running on instinct. He lays a hand flat over his neighbour's forehead. "Christ, Aziraphale. You're burning up. You shouldn't even be out of bed."_

_Aziraphale rolls his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. Everyone gets sick every once in a while."_

_Crowley takes one full look at him and something odd fills his chest._

_"Stay put," he says, inching back towards the door and bursting with adrenaline. "I'll be right back."_

_He comes back half an hour later with a bag of ingredients and commandeers Aziraphale's kitchen, whipping up a quick and easy chicken soup while Aziraphale dozes off peacefully on his couch._

_As Crowley sets the table, he gets a good look around Aziraphale’s flat. He knows his way around here in the dark like it’s his own, but it dawns on him that this is his first time seeing Aziraphale's room in broad daylight._

_It is, for lack of a better word, a mess. There are clothes hanging on the backs of plush armchairs and books opened on random pages, littered all over the coffee table and leaving not a single amount of space. The shelves look like they’re heavier with dust than with the books perched on top of them. Yet, despite all that, there's a smattering of soft blankets thrown over comfy cushions, with interesting fractal patterns that Crowley can't help but appreciate. The place looks very lived in and (he can't help but note fondly)_ _very_ _Aziraphale._

_It takes a bit of effort to get Aziraphale to take his place on the kitchen table, but they both manage somehow. He's looking a little better after his nap and is even capable of holding a bit of conversation while they eat._

_"I really must thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale looks at him with those soft, bright blue eyes. Ridiculously beautiful, they are. Crowley has not yet managed to get tired of looking at them. His head of white blond curls seem to glow like some kind of halo. "This is so kind of you to do."_

_Unable to help himself, Crowley flashes him one coy grin. "I'm here whenever you need me, sweetheart."_

_Aziraphale tenses visibly, his grip on the spoon wavering, and Crowley realises that he’s managed to say just about the wrongest thing._

_Shit._

_"Don't." Aziraphale is slightly dazed but serious. "Don't call me that. Please."_

_Crowley nods apologetically, feeling like he wants to kick himself for upsetting him._

_He manages an offhand grin which in no way mirrors his inner turmoil._

_"I'll just think of something else to call you, then."_

**ooo**

Aziraphale does as Crowley requested and heaps the cookies onto one of the nicer looking plates once they've cooled down. He stacks them up and even takes a photo with his phone. Moments later, Crowley appears at the table and Aziraphale shoots him a grateful smile, one that he knows will absolve him of all sins so long as it’s directed at Crowley.

Crowley rolls his eyes, and Aziraphale is forgiven.

They have just enough interests in common to bond over, but also enough differences that there's still plenty left for them to argue about (and they argue _a lot_ ). This is probably why their unconventional past hasn't put a strain on their friendship. At the end of the day, Aziraphale likes to think that they understand each other the most.

There's a lull in the conversation, and Crowley opens up a new topic, casting cautious eyes over in his direction.

"By the way, was Zac okay last night?"

"He is fine. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, it's just. I heard something through the wall, and—"

"Crowley, you perverted snake!"

"I wasn't _tuning into the radio_ , if that's what you're thinking!" Crowley puts his hands up in a defensive position. "I just heard this deafening screech that didn't sound like yours."

"Ah, right. His leg took quite a hard blow from the island."

Crowley releases an astonished scoff. "He _bumped_ into the island?"

“Poor thing was in so much pain."

"I'm sorry, how-how did that even hap—" His eyes go wide. "Wait. Oh god. You _still_ do it with all the lights off."

As Crowley's amusement rises up to full outrageous laughter, there isn't much else for Aziraphale to do than flame right up. "It's not that unreasonable a request!"

"He sounded like he was _dying!"_

"Well, _you_ didn't seem to mind! Back then, I mean." Now _this_ memory causes a furious shade of red to climb to his face.

"Yeah, but that's me." Crowley replies, unfazed. "Look around my flat, you dolt. I like dark places. But not everyone's like me. Can't you leave a nightlight on at least?"

"No. Nonononono." As though his grammatically questionable multiples weren't clear enough, Aziraphale also shakes his head. "You know he can't see. He _mustn't."_

"Aziraphale, you've been seeing this guy for months. You can't keep hiding your messes from him."

"Well, I am not comfortable with him seeing that." Ever the stubborn one, Aziraphale firmly lays his hands on the table. "He will think differently of me, I just know it."

But Crowley is used to his stubborn-as-a-rock ways by now and only gives him a soft smile.

"It's not that big of a deal. I mean, your flat still gives me the most irksome urge to move things around, stack them up in proper storage, maybe do a bit of dusting as well - "

"I simply do not see the need when I already know where everything is."

Crowley grumbles, but he releases a breath and lets it slide. "My _point_ is, if he really likes you, then he's gonna accept that you’re a bit messy. It’s not like you committed a war crime or something. And anyway if he doesn't, then you’ll know he’s a right prick."

Aziraphale knows that he's right, of course, but for some reason his mind refuses to fold into the idea and instead chooses to glide right over it.

He props up his novel on the table.

"I will finish this in an estimated twenty minutes if you leave me be without any distractions, so I would appreciate it if you shut up for now, darling."

Crowley doesn't try to argue any further.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really honoured by all the love given to this story! Thank you so much for taking the time to read it and I hope you also enjoyed this update :) 
> 
> Come hang with me on twitter (@angelsnuffbox)! And maybe yell at me in the comments if you want


	5. The Neck Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small, slightly awkward inquiry from Crowley leads to the recollection of a fond memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback in this chapter takes place _before_ Aziraphale broke off their 'arrangement'.

_There's nothing like the feel of skin on skin, with Aziraphale pinned on the mattress under Crowley's lithe form. Their heavy pants and moans fill the expanse of Aziraphale’s dimmed flat as they kiss sloppily. It seems that Crowley has lost track of where Aziraphale's mouth is and is trailing warm kisses over his cheek, moving down the side of his face. He bucks his hips, bringing their cocks into a smooth glide, the rustle of sheets under Aziraphale's bottom breaking sharply into the air._

_"Fuck," Crowley moans directly into his ear. He's barely able to form words. His breathing breaks as he repeatedly rolls his hips, chasing his pleasure. "Aziraphale. Y'feel... fuck. So good."_

_Aziraphale nods, though there isn't anything he has to agree with, only he's desperate to show his approval somehow. His fingers wind into Crowley's hair, meeting his wild thrusts. "Yes. Yes, yes. Oh, Crow-ley..."_

_"Love it when... y'say my name... like that."_

_He moans again, to indulge him. Chuckling lightly, Crowley swoops in to the notch below his ear, right at the corner of his jawline, and bites into the sensitive skin._

_He cries out, his throat going raw while a thousand hot sparks shoot up his body, rendering his limbs numb. "C-Crowley, oh heavens! Right there, right there! Please, darling." He tightens his grip in Crowley's hair to keep him in place._

_Crowley lets out a low growl and licks into that same spot, dragging his hot tongue over every inch of skin and moving it in slow circles. Aziraphale can feel his toes curling. He can’t remember ever feeling anything remotely like this. Nails rake into Crowley’s back, keeping him pressed close. His entire body is attempting to devour Crowley while he shivers from the attack below his ear and the slide of their stiff, slickened shafts between their bodies._

_So this is what being alive feels like_ _._

_Crowley sinks his teeth, grazing downwards, and his mouth falls wide open to a lewd, shameless moan._

_He grins into Aziraphale's neck. "Would you look at that."_

_"No, no." Aziraphale arches his back and wraps his legs around his waist, trying to get him as close as possible. He's achingly hard, desperate for release, and he bares his neck for Crowley, squeezing his eyes shut. "Crowley, don't stop. Please, don't stop, please!"_

_"Shhh." He coos, placing a gentle kiss into that one spot. Just enough to tease, but neither of them expects the full-body shudder that it elicits. "M’not gonna stop, okay? Just relax and feel it. And scream for me, sweetheart."_

_At Aziraphale’s desperate nod, Crowley moves back down and attacks mercilessly, switching between nipping and sucking and licking with expert movement. Aziraphale doesn't bother to suppress his moans. His grip is wavering, and he grinds himself on Crowley with wild abandon._

_Crowley tightens his hold around him, one hand coming up to his curls to tip his head back so he can have greater expanse to explore. His sinful hips bear down on Aziraphale, squeezing their cocks together. The firm bite into his neck delivers the final blow. Aziraphale comes without warning, coating both their stomachs with his spend in hot pulses while Aziraphale moans his name over and over again._

_Crowley pushes himself up on his forearms, his mouth hanging open, watching him._

_"Oh my god." Once the aftershocks have faded, Aziraphale lies limp, covering his face with his hands. "That wasn't supposed to happen! Why did you let me come?"_

_"You told me not to stop!"_

_"But!" He keeps his hand closed firmly over his flushed face, properly horrified. "I'm so sorry. I didn't expect to finish so early."_

_He expects another teasing remark or a flashy smirk. Instead, there's a hand that runs through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead in a featherlight stroke. Lips press against his own, pushing past the fingers he has under his nose._

_The kiss is so soft. Almost loving. It makes him pull his hand away to look into Crowley's eyes, which are now staring at him with a strong emotion he's never seen before._

_"That was the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen in my life," Crowley whispers and kisses him again, nearly hard enough to bruise._

  
  


**ooo**

  
  


Every so often, Crowley can be bullied into driving him to places. He does a lot of grumbling about it, but Aziraphale knows he doesn't actually mind so long as he has nothing else on. Today, Aziraphale manages to convince him to drive two hours to a book fair that he's been keen to attend, and he relishes in his victory. He much prefers Crowley's company to riding the bus.

A Queen song is still playing through the car stereo. Aziraphale isn't even a fan, but he now has every song on _Best of Queen_ firmly planted in his head like someone hypnotised him into doing it.

It’s halfway into the trip when Crowley darts his gaze to Aziraphale, tense with curiosity, testing the waters before finally asking with forced casualness: "How are you and Zac?"

Aziraphale casts his friend a sidelong glance, primly folding his hands on his lap. His eyes narrow with suspicion. "Why are you asking?"

"It's just... well, I couldn't help overhearing last night - "

"Oh god, Crowley, would it _kill_ you to put on headphones every once in a while? I put up with your noise all the time!"

"Fine, fine!" He replies in surrender. "I'm just a little concerned."

"Concerned about what?"

"Well, _you know."_ Crowley gives him a meaningful look, but he still draws up a blank. "Angel, come on. Don't make me say it."

"I haven’t the faintest idea what you are implying here."

Crowley sighs defeatedly, fingers flexing over the steering wheel. 

"I'm saying he could, you know. _Do better."_

It takes all of two seconds for Aziraphale to gather his full meaning, and his mouth hangs open in shock. He turns to look at Crowley, pursing his lips haughtily.

"And what gave you the notion that I am not satisfied with Zac's intimate provisions?"

Crowley gives a half-shrug with his shoulder. "Personal experience, mostly."

Aziraphale's face heats all the way up, his head going dizzy with it. "I do believe that is none of your business now!"

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." He turns to peer outside the window.

"You should tell him about the neck thing."

 _And_ Aziraphale whips right back, affronted. _"What?"_

"You know." Crowley takes a hand off the wheel to prod his fingers at Aziraphale's neck, that juncture where his jaw ends. "Like when someone nips at you here, on this spot, you - "

Aziraphale very nearly launches himself off his seat. "Yes, I am aware of what the neck thing is!" He swats Crowley's hand away, but it's too late. It's as if his body still remembers the touch, has never truly forgotten it, and his heart works itself to death with pumping blood through all of his veins. He subtly takes in deeper breaths to calm himself. "But how do I even begin to tell him something like that?"

"Dunno. Didn’t seem to mind _me_ knowing."

"You discovered it by accident!"

"Oh yeah." Crowley chuckles, like it's something of a fond memory, then stops abruptly. "Wait. Did you also not know about it before?"

Not wanting to over inflate his ego, Aziraphale decides to stay silent.

Crowley grins wide, lines streaking his cheek and the corner of his eye. "Oh."

Aziraphale scoffs. "What, pray tell, is so funny about all this?"

"I'm the best you've had, aren't I?"

Aziraphale refuses to even look at him. "I refuse to dignify that with a response."

Crowley laughs in full, ringing with glee over Freddie Mercury's enchanting voice. "Oh, angel. It's nothing to be ashamed about."

Aziraphale groans. "It is a perfectly ordinary erogenous zone for a lot of people!"

"Not for you, it isn't."

He crosses his arms with a huff of finality, feeling rather like launching himself into space. "Just drive the car, _please."_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this little update! Halfway through now I can't believe it
> 
> Please leave some love below if you can!! 🥺


	6. In Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley uncovers Aziraphale's 'problem'.
> 
> Oh, and would you look at that. Aziraphale has questionable taste in TV shows too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am floored by the responses to the previous chapter! They were a joy to read, and I'm also glad that you're not letting Crowley completely off the hook, cause this is probably the most asshole-y version of Crowley I've ever written, and I wanted to show in this fic a dynamic slightly reminiscent of _When Harry Met Sally_ where both of them have slightly less savoury traits, but the fact that they remain comfortable even when showing those traits is just a testament to the solidity of the friendship they've formed, because at the end of the day no one knows them more than each other and they obviously deeply care for the other.
> 
> Anyway, sorry I keep talking hehe on with the story!

_It's a quiet Friday night when Aziraphale and Crowley both find themselves unoccupied. In the impulse of the moment, they decide to go for a few drinks at the pub, and though it's tempting to stay a little longer, an odd mood of gloom settles on them for some reason, and they end up making the trek back home before they could get even slightly tipsy._

_They brave through the streets on foot, side by side._ _Aziraphale places his hands inside his warm pockets and playfully nudges Crowley's elbow._

_"That gentleman, long dark hair, came up to you while I was in the restroom? He's cute. He seemed like a nice person."_

_"Yeah, I guess so." Crowley smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes._

_Aziraphale doesn't know what to make of the sudden change in his friend's demeanour. Usually he has his confident wall right up, especially when they’re out for drinks. Even if sleeping with someone isn't in his plans, Crowley never misses out on any chance to gloat in front of him._

_It used to affect him, seeing Crowley parade his admirers around like that, but he's trained himself to not feel it now, and has even become supportive at times, and critical when necessary. It's not like he has any right to be upset about Crowley's conquests. Really, it isn't a big deal._

_Aziraphale figures that he's probably just had an off day at work, so he tries again in a lighter tone. "Did he give you his number?"_

_Wordlessly, Crowley nods. He's still not looking at Aziraphale._

_"Look at you! Are you going to call him?"_

_"Dunno."_

_"You didn't have to shoo him away on my account. I wouldn't have minded going home on my own."_

_The tension increases between them. Aziraphale struggles to make sense of it. Try as he might, he can’t think of anything he might’ve said to upset him._

_"Nah, it's alright. Wasn't looking to get laid tonight anyway."_

_They approach their building. The silence remains as they wait by the lift doors._

_Hoping that they won't end the night on an awkward note, Aziraphale gives one last try at igniting banter as they enter the lift. "I think I know now why you didn't go home with him."_

_"Do you now?"_

_He nods. "You only sleep with blonds these days."_

_“Really.” Rather than protesting, Crowley gives only an exhausted noncommittal hum. "I never noticed."_

  
  


**ooo**

  
  


It's an ordinary evening in Aziraphale's flat. Crowley sprawls himself languidly over the couch and Aziraphale takes to his favourite armchair while they drink from steaming mugs of hot chocolate. This close to Christmas, the chilly weather has begun to set in, and Crowley much prefers Aziraphale's warm weighted blankets to his own (his own fault for prioritising style over functionality), so he cocoons himself in one of those. It's a comfortable silence that they sit in, or as comfortable a silence as can be with an episode of _Forged in Fire_ playing on the telly. (It’s Aziraphale's turn to pick the show now, and he refuses to suffer through another minute of _Kitchen Nightmares)_

_"Your sword does quick work. The wield is good, balance is also good. But I have to question your design of the hilt..."_

Aziraphale hugs his own blanket tighter around him, sighs, and says: "Zac wants to come over tomorrow."

"Good for you. Don't see how that concerns me."

"He wants to come over tomorrow _afternoon."_

"My, what a devil," he deadpans.

Aziraphale turns around to face him fully, pouting slightly. "I don't know what we can do here in the afternoon. He's only ever been over at night."

"Well, you can always just..." Crowley gestures wildly at the telly like he's speaking to a child.

_"Your blade cuts clean into the ballistics dummy. Look at the thrust at this spot, where..."_

Aziraphale widens his eyes in silent mortification. "Oh no. No, no, no. He watches nature documentaries and biopics, Crowley. He can't ever find out that I like to watch this - _this!_ He'll think I'm a brute!"

"Okay, you wanna know what your problem is?"

"Actually I don't, but I have a feeling you will tell me anyway."

"You don't wanna open up to anyone." Crowley sits up, leaning forward with his chin propped up on his elbow, seemingly deep in thought. "Whenever someone gets too close to figuring you out, you get scared and just _snap shut."_

"That is simply not true."

Crowley raises his brows. "You're too concerned with keeping up appearances. You want people to think that you're this intelligent, stuffy professor with a refined taste for wines and literature."

"I do not mean to brag but I am _indeed_ an intelligent professor with a refined palate for both drink and literature!" He hopes that Crowley won't dig into how he purposefully left out the 'stuffy' part.

Crowley nods, cheek pressing into his palm while he smiles at a silent joke. "Yeah, of course. But that's not all that you are, Aziraphale. You're also way more than that, and that's the part you’re too frightened to let anyone know about for some reason."

All his thoughts come to a startling halt, and he's pinned to his position by the sudden contemplative intensity in Crowley's gaze.

His heart thumps wildly. "What do you mean that I am _more?"_

In response, Crowley points two long fingers over at the telly again.

_"These lacerations are clean, even took out a few of the ribs. The wield is good and so is your design. Congratulations! Your weapon will kill."_

"You are also a huge nerd."

Aziraphale releases a long groan, sinking back into his chair and sighing deeply.

Sensing that he isn't in the mood for joking, Crowley wipes the annoying smile off his face.

"So, um, this getting you down that much?"

Aziraphale glances at him and quickly averts his eyes. "I'm wondering if I should just break up with him."

Crowley sits in pensive silence for a second. 

"Are you sure? I mean, it's your decision of course, but the guy's crazy about you. It's gonna be tough giving the old guillotine."

"That's another thing! I have been feeling awfully guilty because he is so infuriatingly _nice_. I cannot find a single fault with him."

"Well, there's the sex."

Aziraphale shoots him a pointed look. "Must you be so crass?"

"I'm just pointing it out. Nobody's perfect."

"Fine. The _intercourse_ leaves much to be desired, but that in no way cancels out any of his niceness. How do I go about bringing it up?"

"It's easy. When he walks through that door tomorrow, sit him down here and tell him frankly: My dear, I've come across plenty of swords in my lifetime and I am sorry to say, your blade did _not_ make the cut."

Aziraphale throws a pillow that smacks him right in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short update here cause we're nearing the conclusion now! Thank you for reading! :) and your comments always make my mornings so bright!! <3


	7. Lots of Foam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head as Crowley waits for a phonecall.

The blast of warm air on Aziraphale is indescribable relief from the biting coolness outside as he briskwalks into the coffee shop. This late in the night, there aren't a lot of people left, and he easily spots Crowley in one of the corner booths, scowling. His arms are crossed over his chest as he glares at his phone like he's about to ignite it by means of telepathy.

"I got your message, Crowley. Is everything all right?" 

One look at Crowley and he already knows the answer to his query. There's nothing in the way he holds himself that resembles his usual slouchy, offhand composure. Shoulders tensed and brows screwed. His knuckles are white from where he's been gripping his arms. His eyes, when he finally manages to look at Aziraphale, are lined heavily with worry.

He's seen Crowley in fits of anxiety a few times before, but it never fails to startle him. It's incredibly different from his usually cool demeanor that Aziraphale needs a moment to prepare himself for it. He slides into the seat next to his friend, ready to take charge.

"Is it with work?" He casts a shifty look over at Crowley's phone on the table, now inches away from Crowley's fingertips.

"Yeah," he replies, a sneer streaking a path on his face. "Just this pesky client. I'm waiting for their call and I just found out this morning the twat's halfway across the world on  _ vacation. _ And I have to sit here, adjusting to whatever hellish timezone they're in, like an idiot."

"Oh. I am sure they will call soon."

"I think not!" He chuckles darkly, giving his head a slow shake. "They do this on purpose, think I've gotten too cocky. They want me to look like a fool, diminish my character. I won't be surprised if I don't get that call 'til some ungodly hour at the break of fucking dawn."

Had this happened a year ago, Aziraphale would have outright called him out for being a drama queen. But he knows better now. Crowley's reflexive outbursts when it comes to his job, even over the simplest things like phone calls, stem from something much deeper than just rude clients. Praise is hardly the norm in his workplace, and to survive Crowley has had to learn to build up that wall. To remain unaffected. To go through the motions, intimidate everyone else before  _ they _ can get to  _ him _ and never, under any circumstance, show an ounce of  _ care. _ Caring is a weakness, and they will use it to eat him alive.

Which is a shame, because Crowley is one of the sweetest, most caring people that Aziraphale has had the privilege of knowing. 

Aziraphale understands that it's also why he's so desperate to get away.

"Wait here, dearest. I'll get you a drink."

Crowley gives him a nod and he slides out of the booth. There isn't anyone else in line so he manages to get the order relatively quickly, and he drops the cup in front of Crowley, sliding next to him once again.

"Talk to me," he says gently, giving what he hopes to be a soothing smile. "We can talk while we wait."

Crowley takes a sip from his drink  _ (some overly sweetened festive concoction with lots of foam) _ and grimaces. "What the hell is this."

"I'm hardly going to let you drink anything with more than half an espresso shot while you're in this state. Stop grumbling and drink up."

He concedes, lifting the cup and taking another small sip. He busies himself with stirring the foam, but Aziraphale can see that a part of him is still distracted by his phone. 

He cups Crowley's cheek, turning his head firmly to face him. "You will hear it, all right? Staring isn't going to make it ring any sooner."

Crowley manages a meek nod. Aziraphale can see his still shaky breath racking through his frame, but there's marginal improvement in his posture. The deep-set lines on his forehead are gone.

Long fingers wrap around Aziraphale’s wrist, sliding underneath the cuff to swipe over bare skin.

Aziraphale takes in a sharp breath and lets him. The action calms Crowley down considerably, but it does quite the opposite to himself. His pulse races. He knows Crowley can feel it through his wrist and he can't prevent the blush forming on his cheeks.

In response, Crowley keeps his gaze level. He turns his head ever so slightly and, without once breaking eye contact, places a warm kiss to the center of his palm.

Aziraphale merely watches him, utterly transfixed while he dips his head to mouth at his skin a few more times, moving down to his wrist. 

There's something so soothing about the sight, so warm and completely  _ right _ that it makes him smile, his breathy laugh coming out in soft tinkles. Crowley smiles into his wrist as well, turning his head to reveal a dopey grin when he returns his gaze to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale doesn't even realise that he's leaned in. It only becomes clear when their noses bump, and he's distracted by the sight of a familiar mouth hovering close over his own.

He stops breathing, looking up into Crowley's eyes to see the same emotion he has mirrored in them - hint of panic, hint of wonder, but a lead into acceptance.  _ This is going to happen,  _ he thinks, feeling the familiar rush of warmth and intoxication in his head. _ Probably should've happened a long time ago.  _

He moves in.

The phone rings, rattling the table with its vibrations, and it's a knife that hacks through the air, forcing them to break apart. Crowley snatches the phone and holds it in a clawed grip, all while heat rises up to Aziraphale's face.

"I have to get this..."

"Yes! Indeed! Go ahead, I-I must be heading home now."

Aziraphale stands up on shaky feet and gives an awkward, far too enthusiastic wave before striding straight out the door.

He doesn't let himself feel all of it until he's safe inside the paper thin walls of his flat, and only then does he allow himself to breathe, his entire body shuddering with the weight of air so heavy that it sinks right through him.

_ Crowley is who I want. I'm never going to want anyone else.  _

_ What a hopeless case. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so so close to the conclusion now!! Thank you for reading :) <3


	8. God Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do I summarize this. More miscommunications, I guess? And a plan is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an hour before Christmas day where I'm from. Happy holidays, everyone!

_'I want to break free from your lies_

_You're so self satisfied I don't need you_

_I've got to break free_

_God knows...'_

It's the middle of the afternoon and he's pounding on Crowley's door again. He doesn't even bother shouting this time, knowing it'll just be wasted effort.

_'I've fallen in love for the first time_

_And this time I know it's for real_

_I've fallen—’_

The music shuts off and the door opens by a fraction.

"Yes?" Crowley says gruffly.

Aziraphale straightens his shirt and huffs. "Well, I see you've found another fellow to hammer away the afternoon hours with, but I am trying to work and I would appreciate it if you could keep the music, and the moaning, down."

Crowley blatantly ignores this remark. "What're you working on?"

"I'm preparing a lecture."

"No you're not."

"Excuse me?"

"You've been using the same material for eighty years." At Aziraphale's indignant huff, he adds, "Kidding. It's almost Christmas, you dolt. You don't have any lectures. Did you wanna come by to talk?"

"No! Why would I when you're evidently busy with—"

"With cleaning?"

"Yes, with—wait, _cleaning?"_

Crowley opens the door wider, clad in a loose worn-out shirt and cotton trousers, a far cry from his usual state of either flashy overdress or alarming _under_ dress. In one hand he grips a pair of bright pink rubber gloves and a vacuum cleaner stands just behind his foot.

Crowley throws a washcloth over in his direction and he barely manages to catch it with his clumsy fingers. "Now that you're here, you may as well help out with the dust."

They work in tandem for a while, the vacuum cleaner filling up whatever awkward silence that might've managed to form between them. Soon, though, there isn't a spot left unvacuumed and Crowley is left with no choice but to switch it off.

It's been a week since Aziraphale fled from him in the cafe. Even now, he still doesn't have any idea how to breach the topic.

So they do what they do best: avoid talking about it entirely.

"You seem to have a lot of time these days," is what Aziraphale does manage to get out. It seems safe enough.

"I quit my job."

Aziraphale’s heart stops. "You... what?"

Crowley hangs awkwardly by the side of the sofa, folding up the used pillowcases into a neat pile and obviously avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah, like I've always wanted. Figured it was time."

"Oh, wow." Aziraphale feels like choking up, and he internally chides himself for being so vulnerable. He tries for an encouraging smile. This is Crowley’s dream. He can’t let his personal feelings detract from this remarkable victory. "I must congratulate you. They do not deserve you, dear."

"Hm."

"Does this, um, mean that you're... leaving... soon?"

He doesn't know if he's ready to hear Crowley's reply, but it comes swiftly anyway, before he can fully prepare for it.

"Dunno. I will someday, but don't know when exactly. I'm still thinking about it."

This time, he manages to make his smile more convincing. "I see." There's still a bit of time, then. Surely Crowley won't just up and leave without saying goodbye. Aziraphale will make every single remaining day count.

"What did you wanna talk about?" Crowley asks.

"Oh, um." Aziraphale figures it won't do well to talk about what happened in the coffee shop. Especially not _now,_ when it’s unlikely to change anything anymore. So he moves onto another safer subject instead. "Zac told me something rather significant yesterday."

"Did he now?"

"It appears you may be right about us being a tad too similar. He expressed a wish to retire someday to a small village. Away from the city bustle and all that." He hopes it will give Crowley a chance to gloat at being right, and they can go back to bickering again.

Instead, Crowley glances at him and lets out a sardonic smile. "What'd I tell you? Mr. South Downs. I await the announcement of the happy nuptials."

They clean the rest of the flat in complete silence.

  
  


**ooo**

On one mid-December evening, Aziraphale and Crowley step out of their flats at the same time. Aziraphale takes a moment to prepare himself, wondering how best to greet him, but Crowley beats him to it.

"Someone’s dressed to kill tonight." A pause, and then warily he adds, "You look really good."

Aziraphale is dressed in one of his finest suits - a beige and light blue ensemble topped with a nifty tartan bowtie. The compliment sends a rush of blood to his cheeks.

"Thank you. Zac and I are to see a play."

"Right, yeah." Crowley draws away slightly, holding up the object in his hand. "I'm just taking the rubbish out. Have a good night."

Aziraphale senses his urge to walk away and he blurts out nervously. "Actually, I think this will be the _last_ time we'll be going out."

This freezes Crowley in his tracks, but his expression betrays nothing. "Why do you say that?"

"I suppose it's better to do it in a civil and professional setting, and he went to such great pains to obtain the tickets. It's the least I can do, soften the blow."

"I guess."

"It's a week before Christmas," he says again, forcing himself to remain calm. "Do you have any plans for Christmas Eve?" His tone drops at the very end, turning suddenly shy, and he can only hope that Crowley has grasped the full meaning behind his question.

Crowley shakes his head. "Not really. Unless you count passing out on the floor from copious amounts of alcohol a plan."

"That definitely counts." He releases a breath of relief. "I should like to join you in that plan, if you're amenable."

Crowley looks stunned for a couple of seconds, blinking slowly. Then, he nods. "Okay." He seems to dither on his spot, trying to come up with something sensible to say, and Aziraphale waits patiently. "Just, can you take care of the food? I've a bit of work to do, final stuff to take care of at the office before I leave for good, and I—"

Aziraphale nods enthusiastically. "Yes, of course. Leave it to me." He bites his lip to keep from smiling too wide, and in a stroke of courage, he adds, "Now don't go too far off, or you'll miss the incredible Christmas dinner I have planned."

"I've no doubt it'll be perfect, angel."

"And," he shoots Crowley a coy look, flickering briefly as he squares himself. "I quite like having you nearby."

Crowley smiles back, softly, looking far less guarded than he did just a minute ago. "I like being near you."

It's suddenly way too warm in the corridor, and Aziraphale is just about to come up with a cheeky reply before Crowley gestures to the watch on his wrist.

"Don't you... have a play to catch?"

Aziraphale's eyes shoot wide open. "Oh, yes! Yes. Um, thank you for reminding me." _Later. We'll continue this later,_ is what he actually wants to say.

Judging from the look on Crowley's face, he caught the full intent anyway.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't thank everyone enough for following this story! I'm really overwhelmed by all the love. The last update will be a big finale thing that I hope will make this series of misunderstandings and repressed pining worth it haha


	9. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes to light. Fucking finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking until the end! It's been so much fun and I hope this ending delights you in some way and makes your day somewhat bright :) happy holidays!

The kitchen timer dings loudly and Aziraphale scurries off to retrieve the cake from inside the oven. It's the only part of the dinner that he made himself, but he's well proud of it. It seems to have a good shape and smells delightful. He takes a couple of minutes to appreciate it before glancing at the clock on the wall and hurrying to wipe the kitchen counters clean from traces of flour and brown batter.

Crowley has given him full reign of his kitchen to prepare their Christmas dinner while he swings by his office to pack up the last of his stuff. Any moment now he's going to show up through that door, and they will finally have a moment of privacy.

There's something extremely domestic about it all. A vision that comes to him so naturally, Aziraphale puttering about in the kitchen and waiting for Crowley to come home. The idea is so enticing that he has to mentally slap himself before he could get carried away.

This is Crowley's place, not their _home._ And Crowley will be leaving soon. He's only making the best of their remaining time together.

He chooses to focus on the bright side of things. Crowley _wants_ him here, and they're about to spend a pleasant Christmas together, this time with no distractions. He remembers the way Crowley's gaze raked over him when he was wearing that sharp suit and blushes. Who knows? There's nothing stopping them now. _Anything can happen._

Crowley steps in just as he's finished cleaning up the kitchen. He takes several calming breaths, battling with his racing heartbeat for a moment, before turning around to face his best friend.

"Hello."

Crowley has taken off his shades, and his eyes are wide, seemingly awestruck as he replies faintly. "Hi."

_We're alone. We're alone in his flat and this has happened so many times before but why does it feel like I'm about to throw up my heart?_

They go about setting the table, working in tandem again, neither needing to speak much. It's always been so easy between them, and Aziraphale misses how naturally they fall in together.

"How'd your date go, by the way?" Crowley asks, slightly wary, though he forces nonchalance as he lays down the cutlery over the table. "Hope Zac isn't too heartbroken. Bet he wasn't expecting to go see a play and get dumped."

Aziraphale has nearly forgotten all about it by now. "Actually, he um. Turns out he went there to propose."

A heavy fork clatters onto one of the plates as it falls from Crowley's slackened grasp. "He did _what?"_

"After the play, he... Uh, well I was about to tell him my news but saw he had something to say as well. _'Do go on first,'_ I said, wanting to be polite of course, but then he brought out a ring, and - "

"Right. Yeah, congratulations, then. I wish you a long and happy life together." He's already shutting off.

"Darling, _no."_ Aziraphale paces the few steps to close the distance between them, laying a hand on Crowley's cheek, much in the same manner he did in the coffee shop to calm him down. Crowley's face has crumbled and it nearly breaks his heart. He strokes a thumb over his cheekbone, marveling at how the soft skin gives in to his touch, and his love for the man threatens to burst through the seams. He smiles tenderly. "It just took me by surprise, is all. And it made me feel rather worse for having to break his heart right after, though I suppose it is my fault for allowing it to get that far."

Crowley relaxes visibly, pushing his face into Aziraphale's palm. It lasts only for a second, though, then he launches into panic.

"But _why?_ He was Mr. South Downs, Aziraphale!"

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. _How can someone so clever and wonderful be so willfully obtuse?_ "I did think about it. But would I really rather be with Mr. South Downs who is supposedly the man of my dreams, or spend what will probably be your last Christmas here in London with you? The right choice, I think, is quite clear."

Impatience takes over. They've already wasted so much time, and they have not much of it left. Before Crowley can come up with another ridiculous protest, Aziraphale leans in and kisses him.

Crowley releases a shocked noise, partway between a groan and a wheeze, but before Aziraphale can pull away to make sure he's okay with this, long arms come to wrap around his waist and pull him close.

 _This is so_ _right_ _._

Their mouths open automatically, deepening the contact like it's been no time at all since the last time they kissed rather than a full year. Crowley slides his tongue into his mouth, swiping up confidently while he runs his palms down Aziraphale's torso, coming round the back to knead at the fleshy space above his backside. Aziraphale is already fully aroused and he groans into Crowley's mouth. _Infuriating_ is what he is. It is maddening how he _still_ knows all the precise little maneuvers that Aziraphale likes. 

Then again, that shouldn't come as a surprise. Crowley has always known him better than anyone else. Better than he knows himself even.

He shivers in anticipation. Crowley is going to _ruin_ him once they get to bed.

After a short adjustment period, Crowley grows in confidence, taking charge in the same way he used to. His mouth moves with greater force, and he's backing Aziraphale into a wall, pinning him against it. Aziraphale goes pliant and he fumbles to unbutton Crowley's shirt. They're breathing heavily, growing increasingly frantic as the seconds drag on. Crowley moans deep, the sound swallowed into the recesses of his mouth, before he pulls back to kiss his way down Aziraphale's jaw.

 _"God."_ Aziraphale gasps, gripping Crowley’s hair and tugging it the way he likes. This earns him a lengthy hot moan. "I’ve missed you. I missed you _so much."_

Crowley grins smugly into his neck. "You live right next door, angel."

"Dear, shut up."

"Got it." With a slight shift of his head, Crowley moves to attack the sensitive spot beneath Aziraphale's ear, laving over it with a firm press of his flexible tongue. His cock twitches in his trousers and he cries out, gasping for breath while he tilts his head to give him more access.

 _"Oh._ That still feels wonderful." He squeezes his eyes shut at the barrel of sensations the act ignites in him. 

"Better than Mr. South Downs already?"

"Tons better. Oh, darling. It's so, so worth it. Just to have you one last time."

Crowley pulls away from him abruptly.

"What do you mean _one last time?"_

Aziraphale has to wait for the fogginess in his brain to clear out (and what a pleasure it is to know that Crowley's lips are still as intoxicating as ever), but when he finally comes to, he sees only a deep-set look of concern on Crowley's face.

He hasn't moved away, though. Aziraphale attempts to draw some comfort by placing a hand on the unbuttoned part of his shirt, laying it flat on his bare chest, lightly playing with tufts of coarse dark hair.

Crowley's heart flutters under his fingertips.

"Well, I know you haven't fixed on a date yet, but I'm assuming you're - "

"You think I'm gonna leave after this? Leave _you?"_

He ducks his head to avoid Crowley's intense gaze, his stomach churning. "Is that not what you were planning to do?"

Crowley is silent for several long seconds as he processes this. He grips Aziraphale's arms. "Oh. No. No. No. _Shit."_

"Is everything all right, dear?" Aziraphale is the one confused now. He hurries to placate him. "It's okay, Crowley. I do not have any expectations about tonight, or anything after. I just want us to have a pleasant time together."

"No, I mean. _I_ may have misconstrued things." Crowley steps back, raking frantic hands through his hair and looking increasingly helpless, only furthering Aziraphale's concern. His eyes flicker with wild emotion. "I may have just made the most impulsive decision of my life."

"Dear, what on earth are you talking about?"

Crowley casts him a pleading look. "Promise not to get mad?"

"What exactly did you do?"

Crowley paces across the flat, footfalls hurried and skittish, to retrieve a small object from under the coffee table. Slowly and devoid of his usual saunter, he makes his way over to Aziraphale, carefully depositing the object onto his palm.

Aziraphale looks down at a gift-wrapped box. He inspects it more closely and pries the edge open with his fingers.

"That was supposed to be my gift to you. It's stupid, I know. But when you asked to spend Christmas with me, I thought you meant… uh, well, you’ll see when you open it."

"Oh my _goodness."_

Inside the box sits a silver key, and since it's highly unlikely that Crowley would buy him a car, this could only mean - 

"Is this...?"

"A key to a house, yes." Crowley mumbles, an edge of nervousness in his tone. "A house that also happens to be a cottage."

"Which just happens to be somewhere in the South Downs area?"

With a pained look heavy on his face, Crowley nods.

"Crowley, you bought me a _house!"_

"Okay, first of all: I got it for _us,_ so hah." Sensing belatedly that what he's said in no way helped to further his argument, he groans. "I just thought that we could, I dunno, go off together, or something. And I haven't actually put in an offer yet. The key is _symbolic,_ but I did already have a property in mind, in case you wanted to see it for yourself first. And saying all this aloud makes me realise that this is all very, very stupid so I'm just gonna shut up now before you kick me out of my own flat."

Aziraphale is locked in a trancelike state. He doesn't know when he'll regain the ability to comprehend his surroundings. You know. Sounds, sight, scent _and_ feel. It's all rather too much.

"But what about your adventure? Your plans to travel and see where life takes you?"

"I can still do that. But I wouldn't want to now, not without you." He looks endearingly shy, the tips of his ears going bright red. "I love you, Aziraphale. I've been in love with you this whole time, and I'm sorry. If you were looking for something casual tonight, I don't think I'll be capable of - "

Aziraphale cuts him off. “You _love_ me?”

Stunned and frightened, Crowley nods.

“Why would you do that and never _tell_ me?!”

“I dunno. It’s a bit hard to confess when you’ve already been rejected once, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale huffs, stepping over to jab a finger at his chest. “I didn’t reject you, you insufferable devil. I was under the impression that you didn’t want any _feelings_ involved between the two of us!” 

“And I didn’t! But it-it happened anyway.” Crowley blushes some more, though his mouth is settled into a deep frown. “You’re too adorable for me not to adore you, you dolt.”

Aziraphale softens, his hands coming up to cradle Crowley’s jaw.

"Crowley, I have loved you for so long.” Brown eyes slowly shift to peer down at him, filling with wonder. “You have been _all_ of my greatest trials and I will always come back to you. If you want me by your side, I'll go with you."

Crowley opens his mouth, makes a few sounds, and closes it again. It happens a few more times, growing increasingly stunned and gaping like a fish before he finally manages the art of making _words._

"I do," he says, reaching to take one of Aziraphale's hands in his own, lacing their fingers in a tight grip. "I always want to be with you, angel."

Remarkably disbelieving, Aziraphale laughs breathlessly. “Then I guess we’re getting a cottage.”

For a while they just stand there, lost in the insanity of this situation.

"Y-yeah. We're left no other choice, really." Crowley stammers, his eyes alight with suppressed glee.

Aziraphale places the box safely down on the couch, giddy smile playing on his lips before returning to Crowley.

"How long have we been dancing around each other, dear?" He mumbles fondly, sweeping a hand over Crowley's cheek. Crowley leans into the touch, almost like a reflexive action. "We've wasted quite a bit of time."

Crowley chuckles. "I wasn't gonna mention it again, but you were the one to break things off the last time."

"That doesn't count. I do not think you were half as invested as I was. I did that to protect myself, because I had already fallen madly in love with you. Silly old me." Crowley stares at him. 

"I was well on my way," he admits, pink spreading over his cheeks, and Aziraphale doesn’t think he can love him more. "Was a wreck those first few weeks. Missed you so much." His lips press to Aziraphale's cheek, featherlight, sighing and murmuring into his skin. "I never fully got over it."

"Neither did I." Aziraphale can’t help but think that this has all gotten rather ridiculous, but the air is much clearer between them now and he relishes in it. He pushes his hand into Crowley’s hair and a soft sigh slips past his lips. "Do you think we might have saved ourselves some time if I didn't put a stop to it?"

"No use thinking about it now. But it's nice that we remained really good friends. I'll never regret _that."_

"I agree wholeheartedly."

"That doesn't mean I've never gotten the urge to punch that professor, though. No offence."

Aziraphale takes in a dramatic gasp. "You told me you liked him!"

"I never said anything of the sort." 

"You kept insisting that I should marry him! Do you have any idea how much it crushed me to hear that from _you_ of all people?"

Crowley stills, his eyes going wide. _"Shit._ In hindsight, that does make me seem like a jerk, yeah." His arms tighten around Aziraphale's waist hugging firmly while he buries his face apologetically in Aziraphale's neck. "Didn't mean it, I swear. But I couldn't bloody well tell you to break up with him. I just wanted you to be happy."

Though Aziraphale knows the selfless intent behind his actions, he can't resist playing the opportunity up a bit. He pouts furiously, his arms adamantly limp at his sides. "Well, if you’re so convinced that he can make me happy..."

Crowley tightens his grip further. The sensation of it greatly resembles being trapped in a snake's coils, what with how thin he is. He groans petulantly. "No. You're staying here, with me. _I'll_ make you happy."

Aziraphale concedes, finally returning the hug. "I'm already the happiest I can be, dearest." And, because he's still in awe that he can do it now he adds, "I love you."

Crowley releases a soft whimper. "Love you, too."

He pulls back, pouting for another kiss and Aziraphale indulges him, slotting their lips together and marveling at how naturally they fit. They exchange languid kisses, Crowley's fingers finally conquering the fight with the buttons of his waistcoat, and it pools on the floor by his feet as those same fingers move to work at his collar. 

Aziraphale unbuttons Crowley's shirt the rest of the way, and they still work smoothly, even after all this time, their steps inching them closer to the bed. It's a dance that they work in rhythm - the act of peeling off each other's clothes. They do it at just the right pace, efficient but reverent. Needy but careful. And they do it with smiles adorning their faces, pressed into each other's skin.

His palms slide down Crowley's chest, caressing smooth planes down to his flat stomach. A fire stokes inside Aziraphale, hungrily claiming each inch bared. A dark voice speaks in his mind. _This is mine,_ it says as he reaches the waistband of Crowley's jeans and takes in the tent at his groin. And he knows it to be wonderfully true. 

He works quickly with that snakehead belt buckle until Crowley abruptly lifts his head from where it had been lodged in Aziraphale's throat, bursting into soft laughter.

"What is so funny?"

"I just can't believe it."

Aziraphale briefly wonders whether hunger has overtaken Crowley's brain, and somewhere in the back of his mind it registers to him that they have yet to consume their planned dinner. "Can't believe what?"

"He proposed to you after dating for _five months."_

"You got a house, asked me to move in with you, and we weren't even dating."

Crowley's laughter dies, hard and fast, in his throat. "Yup, I see that now. Good point." 

He rakes a hand through his hair, smiling fondly as he gazes at Aziraphale and really _looks_ at him, with all the love and fondness he's pent up - everything he's allowed to express now. "Angel, the effect you have on people. You have no idea."

Aziraphale closes the distance between them again, kissing him chastely. "I’m not sure what effect you are referring to, but I should be very glad to know whether it works on _you.”_

Crowley flames up, red as a tomato - a very amusing sight that gets him giggling.

"Consider that a success, then."

Aziraphale casts a ravenous look over him, head to toe, and smiles. "Oh, I do." He closes his eyes, heart skipping a beat, and when he opens them again Crowley is watching him intently. He bites his lip. "Can I just... make a request?"

"Anything."

"I want..." he takes a deep breath, his skin feeling far too hot all of a sudden. "That is, can you _please_ call me..." He trails off and ducks his head into Crowley's shoulder.

Crowley's eyes widen by a fraction while he mulls this over. He hooks a finger under Aziraphale's chin, tipping it up to meet his gaze. Aziraphale finds himself staring into a pair of warm brown eyes, wrinkled at the corners with unrestrained contentment, and a heavy burden lifts off his shoulders.

Crowley places the softest of kisses on his lips. "Oh, sweetheart. Did you miss me that much?"

Aziraphale melts on the spot, leaning all the way into him as he nods slowly, letting the re-awakening of the endearment run in his veins, filling in all the right spaces inside him. He is overcome by a wave of affection so strong that he nearly sobs. 

"It's all right." Crowley hugs him to his chest, burying his nose in Aziraphale's hair. "I'm here. I've got you now."

Crowley moves in to kiss him again, leading him in the direction of the bed while he slips Aziraphale's shirt off his shoulders.

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale tries to say, feebly attempting to still his frantic hands. "Shouldn't we be having dinner first?"

Crowley growls low in his throat, teeth latching onto _that_ spot, and Aziraphale moans involuntarily. 

"You already made me wait a full year, sweetheart. I _refuse_ to wait until after dinner to fuck you again. Get on the bed."

He presses his amused smile on Crowley's temple. "Yes. Take me to bed, darling."

They're stripped down to their underwear, with Crowley's mouth trailing a heated path from his bare shoulder down to his clavicle, when Aziraphale takes in a sudden sharp gasp.

Crowley's head pops up, concerned. "Did that hurt?"

A wicked grin is what Aziraphale replies with. He catches his lower lip in a bite to suppress his mirth and shakes his head.

"Then what're _you_ laughing at? I'm trying to get you in a mood here!"

"You insisting that we have our clothes off before we even get to bed. It's because you don't want the clothes in contact with your bed covers, isn't it?"

An expression of guilt overtakes his face. "They're _outside clothes,_ Aziraphale. They're not supposed to be where you sleep, it's gross."

"You scoundrel! I used to think that was sexy!"

"You mean it isn’t sexy _now?"_

In response, Aziraphale rakes a hungry gaze over his chest, down to the unattended bulge of his cock, constrained only by his tight pants. He licks his lips, blushing. "Fine. It is a little bit."

Crowley gives a confident grin, just enough to distract him while he hooks his thumbs in Aziraphale's pants and slides them down.

The wind is knocked right out of his lungs when Crowley pushes him onto the bed. He lands in a pile of soft covers, his legs flying out before settling to drape over the edge. Crowley slinks in, parting his knees and settling between his thighs. He runs eager hands up and down the length of them.

"Fuck." He sinks his teeth into the meat of one thigh, tugging lightly and drawing out a sharp gasp from Aziraphale. He murmurs into the skin, sealing each word with a kiss. _"You. Have. No. Idea. How. Long. I've. Dreamed. Of. These. Thighs."_

He digs his fingers in, raking his nails over the flesh and Aziraphale cries out as the stinging pain and pleasure stir into one inside him. His neglected cock is rock hard and leaking, standing at attention.

"C-Crowley, _please."_

Crowley sinks to his knees on the floor, looking up to flash him a wolfish grin. He winks. "All in due time, sweetheart." He lands a hard slap over his thigh, relishing in the way it jiggles before he stills it with a tight squeeze that makes Aziraphale shout, arching his back off the bed.

Crowley continues to place wet, open-mouthed kisses up his thighs, coming dangerously close to his crotch before moving back down and starting over again. It's unimaginable torture that has him gripping the sheets in hot, desperate groans. 

A hand comes up to lift his leg, bending it at the knee with his foot arched into the air. The position makes Aziraphale feel so shamefully exposed. He's overcome by a rush of warmth pooling in his cheeks, compounding on his arousal. Crowley shoots him one small offhand grin before moving down to press his tongue against his entrance.

Aziraphale cries, his head thrashing back, and he lies there, tensing and quivering, staring helplessly up at the ceiling while Crowley prods at the furled skin. He drags his tongue in circles, taking his damn time, and Aziraphale is so close to just grabbing Crowley's hips and shoving his cock in. He's so achingly aroused, feeling so much but also never enough pleasure at the same time.

He has no idea why Crowley feels the need to tease. Surely they have time to bask in each other’s bodies another day, and for so many days after. Right now, he needs to be fucked so badly, needs the reminder that it’s Crowley taking him, and he can hardly wait a moment longer. His hole clenches in anticipation, hopelessly _empty,_ needing to be filled. The ravenous look on his handsome lover’s face only pushes the desire further, racking his entire body in an unsightly shiver and an involuntary moan.

 _"Crowley!"_ He gasps when Crowley moves to suck on one of his balls. "Stop torturing me and get on with it!"

Crowley pulls back and smiles smugly. "I almost forgot how impatient you are."

Over the course of their friendship, Aziraphale has come to know each flash of emotion flickering on his face along with each lilt in his voice. He is overly familiar with _this_ one. This is a challenge. And he's never been one to back down from one of those.

He props himself up on his elbows and smiles sweetly. "Be right back."

"Wha—"

He hauls himself up on the bed, the mattress springing under each shift of his weight as he crawls on all fours all the way over to Crowley's nightstand. His heart stutters when he pulls on the second drawer, and he's met with instant gratification when he finds a condom along with a bottle of lube inside. _Like no time at all has passed._

He throws the items on the bed and they bounce twice and roll over by Crowley's gobsmacked face. Casually, he resumes his previous position as though he never left it, framing Crowley's head with his thighs.

"Now, I don't know about you, but I prepared a lovely dinner for tonight and I refuse to eat it cold. So you fuck me _now,_ dearest, or I will be _very_ cross."

Crowley ends up in an uncontrollable giggle fit while he coats his fingers with the lube, pinned by Aziraphale’s stern and demanding look all throughout. It dies down to soft chuckles by the time Crowley has three fingers inside him, and he replies with drawn out moans of his lover's name.

"I'm ready, darling."

Crowley rips the packet and moves to roll the condom over his length. He coats more of his fingers, slathering a generous amount over his shaft. The entire sequence could not have taken more than a minute, but it's long enough for Aziraphale to huff in anticipation, and he drags Crowley by the arm to sit on the bed. In one smooth movement that has the redhead utterly stunned by the display of strength, he firmly straddles his lap.

Aziraphale swallows down his shocked gasp, running his hands through locks of Crowley's hair and tugging. They barely get a chance to gasp for air, their mouths relentlessly locked into each other as Aziraphale slowly sinks himself down on Crowley's length, wiggling in delight when he gets to the hilt.

He arches his neck, moaning, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of being filled. The stretch of having _Crowley's_ cock inside him. It's like the world making an attempt to correct itself, and there's simply no other way it can do so.

"Aziraphale, you're gorgeous. So fucking beautiful."

He preens at the praise, at that evident awe in his voice. He pulls himself up on his thighs until only Crowley's tip remains inside before sinking back down in full. Crowley joins his pleasured gasps and moans, his hands kneading Aziraphale's arse, helping to guide his movement. 

His breathing comes out in irregular stutters as he speeds up, letting Crowley's cock slide past his prostate, stretch out his walls, again and again. His head falls down to Crowley's shoulder and he keeps the tight grip at the back of his head. At times they manage to connect their lips long enough for a proper kiss, but mostly they end up desperately panting into each other's mouths.

Crowley starts to thrust back, hips trying to lift off the bed and his groans growing more frequent. Aziraphale can tell he's close. He fucks himself on Crowley's member with abandon, raspy voice purring sweetly into his ear.

"Yes, love. Finish inside me. I want you to. Want it so bad, Crowley, _please_ give me your come."

Crowley lets out a long, keening whine, and then his hands are on Aziraphale's hips, stilling them.

"You _bastard."_

Crowley flips them over, throwing Aziraphale on his back on the bed and crawling between his thighs. Aziraphale hasn't even fully comprehended the change before his legs are being folded up and Crowley shoves his cock back in, burying himself in one thrust. His hands keep Aziraphale's legs open by the knees, almost bending him in half. Aziraphale grips the sheets as a hot burst of pleasure racks through him, shuddering his entire body. His brows are screwed up, his mouth hanging open, and he's moaning unabashed as he gazes up at Crowley with all the love and adoration he could muster in his current debauched state.

Then, Crowley fucks him in earnest. 

"Waited a long time to take this sweet arse again. I'll be damned if I don't get to fuck you until you come, _sweetheart."_ He hisses, his voice raspy and hitching in between the wildness of his thrusts, each of which inches Aziraphale further and further up the bed. 

Aziraphale thrashes frantically, letting Crowley take him, feeling the burning drag of fabric against his back until his head comes dangerously close to the headboard. Crowley's hand is quick to cushion him from it, nestling inside sweat-damp curls as he continues to ram himself inside Aziraphale.

Aziraphale moans at the thought, nodding frantically. "Yes, darling. _Ah!_ A-anything you want. _Oh._ Crow-ley..."

He presses down on Aziraphale, squeezing his neglected cock in between their torsos as he continues his thrusts. 

"I love you so much," he whispers, in an odd burst of tenderness contrasting with his previous words, but it doesn't fail to send tingles down Aziraphale's limbs. He growls. "No one else gets to have you like this. _Tell me."_

 _"Ah!_ Yes, yes, Crowley! Only you, darling. Only you know what I like - _unf!_ The-the only one who can please me like this!" Aziraphale has his bottom lip clenched in his teeth as tingles spread all over his cheeks in a way he's never felt since the last time Crowley shagged him. 

“Good answer.” Crowley rewards him with a harsh snap of his hips. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

Without warning, he sinks his teeth under his ear, dragging it down over his favorite spot, following it up with a playful tongue and light suction. 

_"Crowley!"_

The last dredges of resistance leave him as he releases his spend, hot and slick between their bodies. He gasps Crowley's name over and over, wrenching his eyes shut while his body sags into the mattress. Crowley doesn't bother to slow his thrusts, fucks him right through it, chasing his own pleasure. And just when he's edging on oversensitivity, Crowley climaxes into his tight channel, emptying himself with a long groan and a sigh of Aziraphale’s name.

At last, Crowley collapses on top of him, panting and sweaty. He slips off the condom in a feeble grasp, barely managing to slap it into the small bin that he keeps by the bed, before curling back up on Aziraphale’s chest and planting a languid kiss to his mouth.

“I’ll clean this up later. Don’t think I can even _walk.”_ He gestures a feeble hand at Aziraphale’s seed growing steadily cold on both their stomachs. Aziraphale hums in agreement. Crowley sounds every bit as shocked as he feels.

"How on earth did I ever want to _stop_ that?"

Crowley probably tries to shrug, but is too boneless to succeed. He grunts into Aziraphale's neck. "Dunno. You're stupid. Told you I'm your best."

Aziraphale flushes at the reminder. "Well, now you're just gloating."

Crowley shakes his head, trailing kisses up his jaw. "You're the best I've had, too."

Aziraphale frowns down at him, checking for any traces of mirth. He finds none. "What, really?"

"Yeah." He kisses Aziraphale's cheek, smirking. "I like to please and you're insatiable. A perfect match." Then, in a softer tone he adds, “Also I find you really, _really_ hot. Deserve a fucking award for holding back. You’ve no idea how difficult it was to keep my hands off you.”

“Dearest, I’m about to turn into a puddle of goo and I must warn you because I know you don’t like it when I make a mess in your flat.”

“I can make an exception. Just this once.”

Aziraphale is too exhausted to reply with anything more than a dopey grin. He wraps his arms around Crowley's back, rolling them over so they're laying on their sides.

"Are you certain about... well, me? About everything?"

Crowley moves a lock of hair away from his brow, a soft look stuck to his handsome face. It still feels too good to be true.

"Love you. Don't really care what happens to me now as long as I'm with you, and you want me with you. Just running under the assumption here that you feel the same."

The glint in his eye is still lightly teasing, and Aziraphale thinks that particular look has very little chance of fading over the passage of time.

“My dear, I am so in love with you I can hardly think.” He grabs Crowley's hand, shyly pressing a kiss to each finger. Crowley replies with a wide grin of his own. "It’s just that you probably won’t like how messy I am. Your place is always spotless.”

“I know. And you’re gonna have to get intimately acquainted with Freddie Mercury.”

His eyes go wide with horror. “And more Kitchen Nightmares. Good Lord, what have I gotten myself into?” He slaps a hand dramatically over his head.

“Exactly. The point is I know, Aziraphale. I already know how messy and stubborn you are, and I still did it because I love _you,_ every single part of you, even the ones you think aren’t worth knowing.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I love you so much. You’re wonderful.”

"Thanks for taking time to get to know me," Crowley says, flushing lightly.

"You did the same for me. You know me better than anyone." Aziraphale's heart feels full. 

"Yeah, I do."

"But just so you know, I'm relieved you haven't put down any money on the house just yet, because I have a few reservations about your taste."

Crowley barks out in laughter, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. "And a happy Christmas to you too, angel."

-

_Fin ;-)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've no idea how much it amused me to read the frustrated comments about Crowley being Mr South Downs and how he needed to do a grand gesture of sorts, with this ending in mind haha
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and enjoying this short project :) And if you liked this and can spare the time, please do check out my other fics should you think a few of them would befit your tastes <3
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter! @angelsnuffbox


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